#like maybe check back up on what you've signed up for

[ragnarssons]

the way so many people are complaining, like, “this season lacked of stakes” (because there was no death??) and it’s like... when did we become so addicted to cynical pieces of media, expecting characters to die, for a story to have “stakes” or any emotional payoff? why, tf, are there people who can’t settle for a (temporary, because there is a s4) clear-cut happy ending? and i find it particularly ironic considering s1 and s2 also end up on a clear-cut happy ending but somehow it wasn’t “a lack of stakes” back then... *rolls eyes* i just feel like so many people forgot what star wars is: star wars is luke and han strolling randomly around an imperial base and finding leia just chilling even tho she is the rebellion’s leader. them escaping because obi wan bee-booped the right button. star wars is a bunch of teddy bears saving the galaxy. star wars is anakin skywalker pressing random buttons on a spaceship as a 10 years old and winning a war just like that. star wars is jar jar dropping a ball out of sheer clumsiness and zapping a whole bunch of droids just like that. star wars is grogu being captured by imperial guards on episode 7 of season 1 and being rescued by ig-11 not even 2 minutes into the final episode. star wars is nanny ig-11 just zooming around nevarro destroying the whole imperial army without a scratch to him or yknow, the baby he carried with him. did people forget how the other two seasons were also completely “lacking dramatic stakes”??? because they’re just there, i watched the two previous seasons just before s3 and let me tell you: they’re the same. the arc is the same: grogu (din on s3) gets taken on the penultimate (or one before on s2) episode, somehow the search party does everything right and everything is solved by the end of the season. even more than that, on s1 kuiil dies on episode 7, here, paz vizsla dies on episode 7. so. no death??? why is it a problem now? like?? no stakes?? a whole exiled people finding their rightful place on their planet and ridding their homeworld of the invader that is the empire, wasn’t enough for y’all?? like i get it, y’all love the depressing era of andor and all, which is fine, to each their own. but why does it prevent other shows of just being what they want to be? yknow, potentially goofy and yknow, actually hopeful? because we know how cassian andor ends up. he dies. it’s horrible, it’s sad, it’s depressing. like, are we really out there pretending that din and grogu’s storyline wouldn’t be as fullfilling because they don’t die in what is basically an atomic explosion or something???

[didsomeonesayventus]

also hewwo i’ve vaguely returned to fic writing thanks to engage and as part of getting better at promoting my work uuhhh here (throws breadcrumbs in one convenient post) 

All the following center around M!Alear/Alcryst (alearyst? alcrear? Alal? the utterly unhinged suggestion of alal-) because oops My Favorite Dynamic, generally written as standalone

Rutilated- 3.7k, taking place between chapters 14-15, slight focus on events in chapters 10-11. Insomnia from stress turned awkward flirting turned emotional comforting.

Intergrowth- A series of 6 drabbles totaling 2.5k that take place from chapter 7 through post-game in sporadic leaps. Covers a broad spectrum of crushing angst to fluff, arranged chronologically kind of like an outline of the relationship on the side of the main plot, built around the idea of moments where they held hands

Thanatophobia- 1.3k, post-game. Alear has a nightmare because (kiragi vc) war is heck! especially when you’re dragon jesus and go through protagonist bullshit that people somehow expect you to be just Okay With.

so yeah oops finally found fic topics to latch on to and remembered I might dare have a writing following/finding people who want to read over this way so if u find this post rad or interesting please have at it and enjoy!

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cupid Walks Right.

Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

Summary: You've been hiding your attraction to your coworker for a long time, until a few pictures of him kissing a celebrity in a pool unleash emotions you can't control.

Words: 1,6k.

TW: fem!reader. mentions of crime and arms. spoilers for s1 e18 ("somebody's watching"). two idiots in love. lots of jealousy. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: The reader is simply me every time I watch that episode but with a lot more drama to make it interesting.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

One bullet after another hit the paper meters away from you, with each shot more accurate than the previous one. You had lost count of how many cartridges you had already spent because your mind was full of thoughts that only the sound of the shots echoing in the shooting room managed to silence and give you back a little control of the situation.

Memories of one of the last cases still lingered in your mind, and you couldn't understand why. It hadn't even been something relevant enough to stick in your mind that much, it was just a crazy stalker obsessed with a celebrity and more of the same old same old in terms of creating a profile. It was nothing you hadn't seen before, and it had ended well, with a happy ending that included Spencer kissing the victim he was supposed to be protecting.

That was the crux of the issue, the root of your problem.

You saw some photos that captured the moment in vivid detail and wanted to run out and throw up in the nearest trash can. You held back to avoid answering embarrassing questions, blaming your bad feelings on the last thing you ate and insisting that you were just satisfying your curiosity. But as they say, curiosity always kills the cat.

Maybe it was because it was unprofessional and unnecessary, maybe you were in a bad mood and needed to relax, maybe you were upset that the guy with the germ problem had shared saliva with a stranger, maybe you didn't like Lila Archer because of her performances, or maybe you just wanted to be in her shoes and have him kiss you like that. And for heaven's sake, maybe you've had a few inappropriate dreams about it lately.

You were just about to fire again to get the thoughts out of your mind when someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around, ready to defend yourself with the gun in your hand.

“Wait, wait, it's me. I'm sorry.” Spencer raised his arms in a sign of peace and took a few steps back. “Just me.”

“What are you doing here? You scared me.” You lowered the gun and placed it on the table, trying to sound less abrupt. “I thought everyone had gone home.”

He approached you again, checking the open shells and the pile of bullets on the ground. He was quite surprised to see how many times you had hit the target with perfect shots, and how you still seemed intent on continuing, even though it was almost two in the morning. It wasn't practice, because you didn't need it, it was something else, and you seemed quite angry about it.

“I spent the hour going through some papers and saw the light on in here. I thought I'd come and have a look.” He explained, trying to follow your gaze, which seemed to elude his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

You started gathering your things and cleaning up the space you'd been using, planning to leave as soon as possible because of his presence. It had been weeks since you'd been alone with him because you'd managed to avoid seeing him as best you could. You'd even managed to convince Hotch that it was time for him to pair you up with someone else during the cases to experiment. You didn't even know why he'd listened to you, but it had been a great relief.

“You're leaving already?” Spencer asked, and you just nodded. “Can I take you home?”

Usually he drove you home, because your car was still at the mechanic and you refused to buy a new one. You always used the minutes you spent together to talk about something other than cases, they were moments of relaxation that you both appreciated. The big difference was that now you couldn't afford that luxury without feeling strange.

“Don't worry, I'll call a taxi.” You grabbed your jacket from a nearby locker. “I'm fine.” You added, with the intention of heading for the door until he stopped you by the wrist.

“Is everything okay...between us?” He asked as you looked up to meet his eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You said, feigning confusion. You always knew it was only a matter of time before he figured something was off with you. After all, he worked in profiling.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked again, in a lower voice, sounding a little more vulnerable than he'd intended. That instantly made you feel bad, you didn't want to hurt him with your confusion.

“No.”

He let out a sigh at your automatic response. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he felt a wave of relief for a few seconds. But then he looked into your eyes for a moment and hesitated, biting his lower lip.

“So...why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, sounding a little shy and with a hint of apprehension in his voice. “Or not looking at me at all.”

“I'm not doing anything.” You make excuses.

He got the chills when he heard your voice, which came across as cold and distant.

“You're giving me that look.”

You gave a little frown and folded your arms, as if to say you didn't agree.

“What look?"

“You look at me like I've done something wrong, like you're disappointed or angry...I think both. You barely look me in the eye, you walk away every time I want to talk to you, you don't sit near me on the jet or want to work with me anymore. And you've been like this for a week.” He paused for a second, remembering when your strange behavior started. “Ever since the L.A. case.”

The room was suddenly filled with silence and a palpable tension. You had been foolish to think Spencer wouldn't notice your remoteness, given his perceptive nature. But you didn't have a choice. You didn't want to appear jealous when you didn't even have feelings for him, you were just ovulating or something like that.

“Is it because...because of Lila? I heard Morgan say some things, and you haven't treated me the same since.” His wavering voice sounded more and more confident, as if he still had to convince himself of his point of view. “I want to know what you think, please.”

You could only curse Derek for exposing you like that. He was the only one who knew about your strange attraction to Reid because he had caught you looking at him several times and you had confessed it to him once in a bar after several drinks and a ridiculous game of cross questions. Since that night, the jokes and suggestions about making out with Spencer under a tree had begun.

But a beautiful actress did it before you, in her pool, with lots of pictures to prove it.

“I'm not one to tell you what to do, but I think your actions were unprofessional and most of all risky.” You spoke after a few seconds, clearing your throat and trying to contain the burning you felt. “It could have ended badly.”

Come on, you would have done the same thing. You often thought about what it would be like to kiss him in the middle of an investigation, especially when he kept giving important details. So you were a little hypocritical.

“I'm only saying that because I care about you.” You added, noticing how confused he looked.

“I know, I care about you too.” He replied calmly, taking a step toward you to touch your arm. “This has been bothering you?”

You froze at his warm touch and the implications you thought he was making about you, nodding as if hypnotized. Had he realized that you had been jealous all along? That you wanted to go back so he could kiss you and not her? That you wanted him to put his hands on your cheeks and kiss you deeply until you were breathless?

“I think I understand, but don't worry about me. I won't do anything dangerous anymore.”

Oh, he hadn't noticed.

Spencer really thought that you were just concerned about his safety because he was your friend and your partner on cases, that you were just frustrated that you weren't there to back him up in case things went wrong. It didn't even occur to him that it was something much deeper and more heated than that.

“So, all good?” He gave you a small smile that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Sure.” You lied, with a strange lump in your throat at the guarded words. “I just didn't know you liked blondes.” You added in a fake teasing tone.

Despite your clearly suspicious tone, Spencer laughed sheepishly. “Actually, I like your hair color.”

A strange bubbling sensation reached your stomach and made you smile.

“Mine?” You asked, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“Yes, it's like it's perfect for you.” He carefully brushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, causing the feeling in your stomach to identify itself as butterflies fluttering nonstop.

“You're telling me because I have a gun?” You tried to change the subject with a nervous laugh. “I'm not a celebrity, after all.”

“You don't have to be one to be as pretty as you are. But you could be if you wanted to, and...” He started to talk about statistics and a bunch of data you didn't even know, but strangely enough you didn't listen to him this time because you were stuck on the first sentence.

Spencer really thought you were pretty.

It was only then that you realized something had changed. The only successful shot had been Cupid's arrow to your heart.

Because, damn it, you were totally in love with that man.

[toorusluvr]

... 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

characters: sylus (love and deepspace) x f!reader

content warnings: vaginal penetration sex + p in v + cowgirl position + mirror sex + sylus being cocky and sarcastic + kneeling sex + missionary sex + unprotected sex + not proofread lol i'm sorry this was written on a whim

notes from nis: my first ever sylus smut lol he has been on my mind ever since the first day he was announced! he has no business being this hot! anyway, if you're also a haikyuu fan pls check out my series featuring iwaizumi hajime ehe. as usual, your likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated! <333 listen to around me - metro boomin ft. don toliver while reading! (only bcs i listened to it on repeat while writing this it's my new fav song atm!!)

sylus who got really interested and was in awe the entire time you were riding him. sylus sees himself as someone who would rather take the initiative in everything that he does, especially sex. after all, he always carries this dominating aura to wherever he goes. but he's not dumb enough to turn down his sweet little girlfriend's intriguing offer to be on top. you wanna show him? go ahead, sweetie. he's your audience and he wants you to entertain him. stun him, make him praise you.

what got sylus going was how enthusiastic you looked when you were on top of him, riding him to the extent your legs were sore enough to walk the moment after. sylus's cock was big and thick. it was no picnic to be on top, taking all of him while trying to work on your hips back and forth, grinding on his cock. you whimpered and moaned endlessly. from grinding to bouncing on his cock but he never once interrupted your hard work.

"mm, sylus, please. need you," you whined, hips stuttering to continue fucking yourself dumb on his cock. it's been almost half an hour but your orgasm was so close yet so far. sylus knew you were starting to get desperate to come, to chase that high you were desperate for. but, he needed you to last longer so you know he won't be giving in to you easily.

sylus's laugh was deep and warm, like the gentle roll of thunder. his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook as his chuckles filled the room. "sweetie, you know the drills when you got on top of me. why don't you be a good girl and finish what you started, hm?" his hand then smacked your bottom as a sign of disapproval. seemed like sylus wasn't too happy when you were whining to him.

you threw your head back, groaning in frustration. this man wouldn't let you give up easily. said that you must persevere no matter what the occasions are. you must rise and be the strongest. but not like this! not when you were vulnerable, aching and desperate for him to take control.

both your hands were now planted on his sculpted chest. his chest glistened with sweat, a bit slippery for you to hold. you then moved closer, your tits pressed against his chest. your arms circled around his broad shoulders. sylus shifted uncomfortably beneath you as he felt your hardened nipples brushed against his sensitive chest. fuck.

again, you rocked your hips, slowly grinding on his cock filling you up so good. all warm and thick inside of you. there was a large full-length mirror next to his bed. from ceiling to floor kind of mirror. he installed it long time ago but you never knew what purpose does it serve. maybe now it finally clicked in your mind.

you've always enjoyed seeing yourself in the mirror or any other reflective surface. maybe this moment needed you to focus on yourself instead of the man underneath you. slowly, you got up. your attention was no longer on sylus but the mirror next to the bed. sylus then shifted his gaze towards the mirror too. now, both of you were staring into each other's eyes through the reflection.

your naked bodies exposed, displaying your most intimate time together. slowly, you rocked your hips, trying to find your rhythm. the tip of his cock nudging your sensitive spot with each thrust. your soft yet heavy pants coming from you filled sylus's room. the man didn't even bat an eye at your noises. his hands then moved to your waist, keeping your hips steady.

since sylus won't take control, you decided to take the matter into your own hands. you know too well he'd end up a whining mess if you started bouncing on his cock. since he was too smug to help you, you planted both your hands on his lower abdomen. your hips moved sensually, grinding on him slowly before you got on your knees and moved up and down his cock. sylus let out a staggered breath once he felt your cunt clenched tightly around his aroused cock.

his larger hands had a firm grip on your waist. he didn't even have to guide your hips now that you did it all by yourself. you alternate between grinding and bouncing up and down his cock. sylus let out soft grunts when your hips started moving faster, just fucking yourself with his cock. what pissed him off was that your attention wasn't even on him but the stupid mirror.

you looked at your drop dead gorgeous reflection in the mirror, bouncing up and down his cock. your tits jiggled with each bounce. you whimpered pathetically at the way his cock nudged your most sensitive spot. "fuck me," you muttered under your breath.

sylus's eyebrows knitted as he grumbled, "you're already doing that, sweetie. using my cock like a sex toy, huh?"

still, you weren't looking at him. he got frustrated so he flipped both of you over. he had the upper hand and he used it to his advantage. he couldn't stand not looking at you in the eyes. to not have your attention on him is fatal to him. sylus needs those beautiful pair of eyes to be on him at all times.

you squealed the moment he used his force to flip you guys over. your back pressed against his bed, his height towered over you. "what's so interesting about that mirror, hm? i need your eyes on me, kitten," he spoke in between sharp intakes of breath, each exhalation coming out raggedly.

sylus's thrust was merciless. he kept fucking you like tomorrow doesn't exist. his patience runs thin when he's inside you. he loves taking his time with you but now, he just wants to make you a crying mess. you stumbled upon your words, unable to speak when your cunt being stretched by his thick cock.

you clawed against his back. several faint scratches decorating his muscular back. "fuck, sylus! give me more, please!"

sylus then cupped your chin when you had your eyes shut. he tightened the hold on your cheeks, "open your eyes, sweetie. i need your eyes on me or else i'll leave you high and dry. eyes on me, sweetie. it's now or never." sylus's voice was a dark, smooth blend of sensuality and power, each words punctuated with a commanding edge. typical sylus.

feeling so dazed in your lust, you slowly opened your eyes. his handsome face came into your sight. hair all messy and some strands were sticking to his forehead that was glistened with sweats. he smirked, crimson eyes looking down at you. his gaze filled with hidden desires.

sylus once again flipped both of you over. this time, he got you on all fours, positioning you in front of the mirror. you gasped loudly when he didn't give you any break from his punishing thrusts. at this point, your cunt could remember his cock so damn well. you tried hanging your head low, shying away from the intense gaze sylus was giving you. but he tugged on your hair, making you squeal.

it's like he had you on a leash with the way he tugged on your hair. not until he pressed your back against his front. now both of you were skin to skin again. sylus's ragged breaths felt warm, tingling your ear. you gulped hard. the heat radiating from sylus's body engulfed your skin. sweats started to run along your back. both of you were sweaty and satiated but no one had their first orgasm yet.

"fuck, look at you, sweetie. looking grumpy just because you cannot make yourself come, hm?" sylus's words taunted you. a smirk tugged in the corner of his lips seeing your frustrated expression. yeah, he hit a nail with that one. "my cock is not good enough for you, sweetie?"

you wanted to tell him to shut his mouth but that would be fatal. nah, he won't kill you. he loves you too much. still. you don't dare to go that route yet. "please, sy. i'm tired," you tried bargaining. a negotiation with the devil? yeah, best of luck to that.

sylus scoffed. his jaw ticked at your pitiful plea. "no, not yet, sweetie," he groaned, head thrown back. sylus stifled the rising impulses to come inside you, but he pushed them down with deliberate effort to maintain control over his cold reactions. "ah, fuck," he cursed under his breath.

he fucked you hard and fast, to the point you got overstimulated and tears started streaming down your face. sylus made you watch you cried your eyes out while being pounded relentlessly. your tits jiggled with each punishing thrust. it was sinful, really. but the devil has seen worse. this was blissful. a piece of heaven he could get.

"ah, sylus!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. sylus's hand reached down to cup your pussy, thumb ghosted over your clit. he let his touch lingered there for a while. eventually, he started to draw circles on your puffy clit, waiting for your orgasm to break loose. your breaths came in erratic bursts, each one uneven and sharp as if you were struggling to catch up.

sylus felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock so tightly, it might never want to leave. it was pushing him to his limits too. fuck fuck fuck. he couldn't do this dance any longer. he pushed your body down to the bed, pressing on your back as you arched your back for him. his cock pounded your pussy harder that each breath that came out of you felt hard. you cried with each breath until your orgasm finally broke, releasing the high and endorphins all over the system.

"fuck," you sobbed as you gathered your breath slowly. sylus fucks like a mad man. but he was yet to come so he used you, he used your pussy until his come, hot and thick, filling your womb to the brim. though a wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him, sylus steadied himself and pushed through, determined to check on his girlfriend.

"fuck, sweetie. you were..." he ran out of words. but sylus managed to pick where he left off, "you were so good for me."

you let out a breathless chuckle, "you must persevere, yeah sure i did, babe."

sylus's chuckle was a deep, gravelly rumble, each note rasping out with a rich, textured quality. "mhm, using my words against me, sweetie? have i underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?"

he then laid you down on his bed, limbs tangled with each other. both of you tried to gather your consciousness and breath together. "love to see you get all worked up, sweetie," he whispered before planting a kiss on your cheek. "like a feisty kitten." you then hit him on the chest. what a way to ruin your post-orgasmic bliss. sylus must be tone deaf since he cannot read the room at all. but he's a damn good guy when he wants to be and you happen to love both his good and bad sides. that's what makes him even more special.

divider creds to cafekitsune <3

[reshinless]

the first time you let kinich take you out, you didn't expect him to do this—similarily seen in his birthday voiceline!

"are you really sure this is safe?! "you feel his gloved hands under your body as he picks you up into his arms—bridal style and everything. "I'm very sure, don't worry; my saurian is nice."

The eight-bit dragon merely grumbles under his pixelated breath as his huge, green hydra lets you both onto his back. "I don't kill humans that don't have the name 'kinich malipo', nor a saurian hunter." The statement sounds forced and almost sarcastic, but just enough for you to believe it.

kinich sat down, and let you take a seat right beside him—on his left specifically. the beast slowly spread its small, byte-like wings into the air, and leaped off.

the wind was fresh, blowing into your face, and through your hair. the saurian hunter only holding you close by your waist, a secure—firm grip, enough for you to relax, even for just a moment.

the view was worth millions of mora, you've never been able to see natlan this clearly. an enthralling, gorgeous, and unforeseen observation from the skies, maybe this ride wasn't as bad as you thought.

the night lightened the mood of the city, and the rest of natlan so beautifully. it almost brought you to tears, this is the same city you've been exploring this whole time, huh?

instinctively, you leaned in closer to the infamous raven head they call the saurian hunter 'malipo'. he couldn't help but set a speck of dust—a mere knit of red dance along his warm skin, specifically his face.

he lets out a bijou cough, clearing his throat of nervousness. as he softens his hold around your torso, letting you observe every little detail you may find while ajaw flies through the skies, giving you a show.

you shuddered—the temperature of the skies isn't what you expected. silently, almost expecting it, he swathed you in the simple fabrics of his jacket. the scent was such a familiar scent, that you couldn't help but melt into such clothing, only leaning your head further to your right.

ajaw suddenly leans too harshly onto the right, almost making kinich fall off—yet he seemed almost.. unfazed? "kin'!" your shout echoed through the skies, even stunning ajaw temporarily. a stoic, apathetic expression was on his face, kinich in this situation wasn't too amused, even letting out a scoff—growing a smirk on the very same expression. "seems like your trick backfired." "ohhhh- quit it, kiniiichh!!"

you let out a sigh of relief, "does he always do that? scared me half to death!" a concerned look tells him everything you felt when you saw him slip for a moment. "usually yeah, don't worry about it." you felt a similar smile bloom on your face, as ajaw slowly starts to descend, and kinich scooping you back into your arms.

he sets you down on the ground, near the house mualani lent you for the meantime of your travels in the renowned toyac springs. it was even prettier at night, you swear you could see the petals in the water light up under the moonlight!

"you feel nauseous, or sick? anything of the sort?" he checks your face, and any other spots where your skin can be seen, looking for any signs of injuries. "if so, I can punish ajaw for doing such." "hey that isn't what we agreed on!—" a rock is thrown at the large dragon, a growl as it keeps quiet. a gaze full of anger set out on kinich as you let out a chuckle.

"i'm fine, no worries. here, your jacket." you reach to hand his jacket back, you felt almost fighting against giving it back, it was warm, and it felt like a piece of him would always be with you. "—keep it. you'll need it for the rest of the night if you continue to hang outside. which I know you probably will, mualani is active at night, especially when cooking."

"so... i'll see you tomorrow?" your eyes looked into his for a moment, tilting your head even. "a- ahem... yes, I'll be here tomorrow. chief asked for your help anyway, so."

"bye then." you send a small wave to him.

"mmh.. yeah bye." he nodded, turning around to hide the redness that bloomed on his cheeks as to how flowers would in spring. gosh it was still fall!

"and goodbye to you too, ajaw." you waved the eight-bit dragon off as he huffed in pride. "farewell to you too, human."

you swear you could hear him and ajaw bickering about how you greeted them both a good night as they flew off once more, back to the canopy.

maybe you should go out more, specifically with kinich.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Spending the night at Simon's for the first time and him waking up to you in nothing but his oversized t shirt

Request from here

***

Eyes blinking as light filtered through his closed lids, Simon began to stir as the first bit of the days brightness filled the small bedroom of his tiny apartment. Slowly those thick, long limbs of his stretched their compressed muscles back to life as the blood flowed through them.

Turning over, he was surprised that there wasn't another body laying next to him under the covers; your bright eyes and warm smile were what he had planned to gaze upon, but there was no one. That put him a little on edge, this being the first time you'd stayed over at his shitty little apartment, but he tried to keep calm until he was fully awake.

Simon moved up onto his elbow as he lay on his side, his large hand rubbing the rest of the sleep that lingered from out of his eyes. He looked about, trying to find any signs of you: your discarded clothes from the night before lay in a pile on the floor right next to your shoes, your earrings still sat on the bedside table, and as he checked the mattress with his hand he found that it was still warm. It was obvious you were still around, he just had to go and find you.

A full yawn passed his lips before he heard the sound of clinks and taps, bangs and rustling coming from towards the kitchen area. So that's where you'd sulked off to, making breakfast no doubt.

God you were too fucking much, he wasn't used to all this sweetness, but he wouldn't change it for anything.

Carefully and quietly he moved out of the bed, scratching at the sparse covering of hair on his bare chest before he stood and straightened his sweatpants around his hips. He was hoping he could surprise you by showing up to catch you in the act.

With easy steps, Simon walked out of the bedroom towards the kitchen and what he saw standing there amidst pots and pans, a stack of toast and a pile of bacon to your right, it took his goddamn breath away.

The expectation was to find you naked, since the only clothes you had were still on his bedroom floor, but that wasn't what he found at all. Your hair had been pulled up, a few stray hairs poking out around your hairline that hadn't been secured and it looked like the only thing you had on was one of his old baggy t shirts.

As you moved, Simon could just see a peak of the underside of your ass pop through the bottom of the shirt, playing peakaboo with him the longer he looked. The lines of your legs, looked even longer as the shirt sat just below your hips. Those juicy limbs looked good enough to eat, bare and glaring back at him.

Fuck, you had never been more beautiful to him; it nearly made his goddamn heart stop beating. Being a big man had its perks and this was one of the best ones he found, that you were able to wear his clothes.

In that moment as he watched you happily go about your work, looking like a comfy dream, images of you doing this full time flooded Simon's mind and his stomach flipped excitedly at the thought. If there was anyone that could make that rough and brazen military man soft, it was you.

And maybe it was about time he let someone do it...

There was a sudden warmness against your back as two bulky arms wrapped themselves around your from behind, making you jump a little at the surprise. " 'mornin, luv," Simon's husky voice hit your ears before his kiss touched your cheek. "See you've made yourself at home."

You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth he still had from being wrapped up tight in the covers moments before. "I just...I wanted to do something nice for you, make us breakfast," you said, giving the eggs in the pan currently in your grasp a flip.

"Pretty sure you do more than enough for a bastard like me," he chuckled as one of those thick mitts moved down and cupped lightly over your sex. "This is all I need to stay well fuckin' fed."

Immediately the heat rose in your cheeks, flushing your face bright red.

"But I meant my shirt," he continued, secretly smiling from ear to ear at how quickly he had you blushing. Certain, heavy movements from his hands flitted across your torso as he rubbed over the lines of your curves through the familiar fabric of his clothing.

"Oh, sorry," you quickly apologized, thinking you had possibly overstepped, "I hope you don't mind, I just needed something and it was just there in the top drawer and..."

Another kiss on your cheek shut you right up. "Look fuckin' good like this, luv," he purred in your ear, his low, gravely morning voice making you shiver.

"Really?" you asked, glad that he wasn't mad you'd commendeered his clothes; in reality you knew it would be nothing, but this being the first time you'd done this, you still had some giddy nervousness about everything.

"Ya look like a fuckin' picture to me," he reiterated, those full lips moving down to your next now as he leaned more against you. "I thought I looked good in this thing, but it ain't nothin' compared to a fuckin' vixen like you."

You giggled playfully at all the sweet praise. Nearly missing the eggs being done, you turned off the stove and set the aside until you both were ready to eat. "Please, I look like hell."

"Bullshit," he said as he turned you around, picked up you, and placed your butt on top of the nearest countertop. He slid in between your open legs, letting his hands run down your side from where he had lifted you, sliding tenderly over the shirt. He was right, you were naked save for the shirt and that did something to his still sleepy brain.

Greedily he tilted his head and leaned up into you, embracing your mouth fully with all of his and making your lips dance together. Feverish and sloppy Simon connected with your lips again and again, making your still sleepy brain flatline.

If you could wake up every day like this it would be a fucking living dream.

His kisses would not let up as he pulled you in closer, his hands running over the curves of your back as he stole your lips with a lazy intensity.

"Breakfast is gonna get cold," you groaned with eyes closed, mouthing the words against his parted lips.

His hips bucked into your own. "Nah, my breakfast feels mighty fuckin' warm to me, luv," he said as he kept right at it.

[seospicybin]

INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

-

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

-

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

-

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

-

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

-

Support my works by reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo

[miguelsslvt]

ex nerd! scientist! miguel o'hara x slutty! reader

part two here!

word count: 745

TW: smut, nsfw, d/s themes, mentions of pet play.

A/N: THIS IS INSPIRED BY @nymphomatique SO PLS CHECK THEIR ONE OUT!! their drabble rlly inspired me so i thought maybe i could add a little twist;) welcome to the club!

back in your college days, you were.. promiscuous, some would say. well, you were the biggest slut on campus. if your body count didn't say it all, then the rumours sure did.

you took chemistry, maths, physics and biology. you wanted to be a physics scientist, partially because of the thought of there being lots and lots of different universes, but mostly because the pay was brilliant.

miguel o'hara was your 'pet' back in your college days, per-say.

you used him for your homework, and in exchange you would fuck him, give him head, handjobs, you name it. you took miguel's virginity, and every bit of innocence he had left. he was totally smitten by you. i mean, a pretty, popular girl giving him attention no one ever did? sign him up.

miguel was the biggest loser you knew back then. he wasn't the most muscly, and he had those ridiculous black square glasses, and his outfits were shocking. he had a slight lisp due to his late braces, and his hair was far too long and he clearly struggled to maintain it. to keep it blunt, he wasn't cool at all. he was a loser, a simp, and a goody two-shoes. perfect as your little pet.

it wasn't until after graduation did you stop your little encounters. after leaving college, you blocked his number and left campus on the same day. you thought you'd never have to see that nerdy freak again. well, that's what they all say, right?

that was until you finally got a job at ALCHEMAX. you were a 'technological support scientist', which sounded smart but really all you got to do was watch all the better scientists do tests. you didn't mind, it did more then just pay your bills. hell, with the checks you're bringing in you could probably buy a new car in a few months!

you thought things were all sunshine and rainbows, until the thunder walked in. it's funny though, you didn't realise thunder looked like 6'9 tall and 310 pound of pure muscle and attractiveness. his braces were gone, his hair more clean and cut a little shorter, and his glasses just resting on top of his head, but you knew exactly who he was.

'm-miguel o'hara?!' you said, shocked. he turned around swiftly, looking down at you, before his eyes widened. 'y/n l/n?' he said, surprised. you both had become blushing messes. well, his glow up sure came after only 3 years.

'you.. work here?' you asked, absolutely awe-struck. 'i.. do. i am a technological scientist here. you work here too? why haven't i ever seen you around before?' he asked, intriuged. 'i-it's my first day here. you.. matured.' you said, clearly checking him out.

the man smirked. he actually smirked. the man who would whimper, begging to just get off on your shoe, smirked at you like he was in control. 'and you look as gorgeous as 3 years ago.'

your heart stopped. who was this man? this muscular, defined, confident, completely self aware man.. this wasn't miguel. there was no way.

'you..you're very different, miguel.' you said, a blushing mess. he chuckled, putting some latex gloves on. fuck, even his hands were attractive. 'well alot happens to a guy.' he says smoothly, his voice deeper. god this was going to be hard.

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

that very night, you were spread out on the bed, and you didn't recognise the man above you.

3 years ago, a scrawny desperate nerdy little boy was on his knees, as if you were a goddess. and now, that very man was on top of you, kissing your neck so skilfully, as if he's done this for years. his thrusts had rhythm, as he grinded along your g spot with ease, you let out a gasp and a breathy moan, as he shushed you.

'sh, bonita.. you've changed. where's that dominatrix you were back in college days? why are you so.. obedient?~' he whispered in your ear, as you moaned again.

'i-i think i-it's y-you that changed, m-miguel..' you breathily said in response, as he chuckled. 'oh no, sweetheart, i'm still the same loser that was begging on his knees for you. just now, i've learnt how to please you as well as me.' he said in response, his hands moving down from your breasts to your hips, his cock deep inside you as he grinded his hips as you felt every inch.

god, is this heaven?

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥���♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

[delphi-shield]

connection buffering . . . ↺

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 2

previous part

you weren't bluffing.

you'd made the sign. wrote his name in big block letters, too confident in how you wrote the first half of his name. the 'EDY' crowds together at the end. 'E' shoves 'D' close to the end, 'Y' drawn paper thin and cocked to the side, threatening to topple off the edge of the paper. leon finds he's not too tired to laugh.

he had the whole goddamn flight to figure out what to say to you, but when he sees you standing there with that sign in your hand, scanning the crowd for a man you expect to be two inches taller, it all flushes out of him to make room for the queasy feeling in his gut. when you finally spot him (thank god; the words had gotten lodged in his throat, your name running around his mind again, again, again, lodged so deep in the crevices that he couldn't pry it free and force it out his mouth) your smile nearly blinds him. he shields his eyes with a hand, watches you bounce on the balls of your feet.

he flicks your sign with a finger. the only words that make it past the lump in his throat are, "messed up the kerning, huh?"

you tip your head, puppy-dog cute. more adorable in person. "the what?"

"kerning." silence. you shake your head a little, blank look in your eye. leon tries to swallow, feels barbs jab into his throat. ten minutes on the ground and he's fucking up already. his gut turns. he tries to blame it on airplane peanuts. "the space between the letters."

he should get back on the plane. if he flashes his badge and declares it official business they have to let him on, right? brass wouldn't be happy with him, but what are they going to do? he's leon fucking kenn--

you laugh and his thoughts screech to a halt, plane crash on the concourse. footsteps pound past him - or maybe that's his heartbeat in his ears. your laugh is prettier in person, too.

"okay, all right." your face lights up, eyes squished to make room for your smile. "why do you know that?"

mentally, he flips through a rolodex of excuses. he moonlighted as a graphic designer (false), he was really into fonts (no strong opinions, really), it's classified (outright lie). he settles for the truth, shrugging.

"late night wikipedia dive."

you laugh again. his heart is a bird, fluttering in his chest, battering itself against his ribs to get to you. what the hell is wrong with him? he hadn't felt like this in years, thought he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore. when you were an adult you grew out of this sort of giddiness. he'd choked it down every time he'd checked his phone under the table at an intelligence meeting, dismissed it as heartburn. he's supposed to want. it's supposed to be a blaze that swallows him up. confident and bold and all-consuming. not fidgety and desperate.

he's not anxious. he's a grown man. he's met presidents, plural. he doesn't get nervous meeting people, even if they're stunning, even if his hands twitch to hold theirs.

does he hug you? kiss you? slip his hand into your back pocket and guide you out of the terminal, lead you blindly to a car that isn't his, take you to an apartment he's only ever seen portions of on a 15 inch screen, ask what he can make you for dinner in your own home? that's what he wants. skip over all of this and slide right into familiarity, fly right past all the work it takes to get there. you've done the leg work, right? you know how you feel about each other. he's here. that says enough, doesn't it?

he's eternally grateful that you reach through his thoughts and pull him into a hug. your face stuffs into his shoulder, words muffled. "i'm so glad you're here."

you inhale deeply and he swears his heart does a backflip. jesus, he needs to get a physical. this can't be normal.

it's you who loops your arm with his, you who tugs him into motion. you rattle off questions that he answers as best he can. it feels like drowning, like he can barely keep his head above water. his flight was fine, thanks for asking. no, he didn't get any sleep. he never sleeps on planes. it's a long story. he didn't need a nap, but yeah, he could go for a coffee.

you know this great place, you reassure him. really low-key. he treads water in the parking garage while you dig for your keys. you drop them - twice - and he wonders if you're struggling to stay at the surface, too.

as a last act before sinking into the passenger seat, he rescues your sign from the trash, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

he looks up from buckling his seat belt, beckoned by the way you call his name. he's still smiling when you cup his cheeks and kiss him.

by day two, he's decided you need a new apartment. he hasn't told you that yet, figures it comes off too pushy, but he would fly back down to help you move if you wanted. (if he thinks it hard enough, won't you ask him to?)

don't misunderstand - he likes what you've done with the place. honest to god, you're a miracle worker with decor. you could really shape his place up.

it's just that your front door is less than secure. your locks are ran through. it would take him less than a minute to break in. he doesn't even want to think about your windows. other than being drafty, they're just another completely unsecured access point.

you'd invited him to sleep in your bed the first night, and he had every intention of doing so. he'd just passed out on the couch before he had the chance. leon had woken with a pillow stuffed under his head, thick, handmade blanket tucked over him. it was sweet. really.

but it wasn't the same as sleeping next to you.

leon has every intention of sleeping in your bed that night. you'd filled the day with a tour of your city, pointing out your favorite and least favorite spots, telling stories that let him imagine the streets as a stage, you as the star, top billing as far as he's concerned. everything had been optional, as you'd feverishly reassured him after every stop. he could change the itinerary with one word. the only mandatory stop had been lunch with your friends. a good sign, he thinks. if you're confident enough to introduce him to the people in your life, then you see this going somewhere, right?

by the time you hit your last stop, it feels like he's emerged from a war zone. leon would know. he's been run ragged on back to back operations before, but this - the pressure of trying to be right for you, to show you who he is, waiting on pins and needles for you to sour on him and push back from the closeness he craves - this is truly exhausting.

you must feel it too, offering to pick up dinner on your way home in lieu of cooking. he waves away apologies, reaches past you to hand the cashier at taco bell his card when you try to pay. the food is gone by the time you pull your car into the parking lot.

both of you have the same idea. you're just as worn out as he is (makes him wonder if you're doing the same thing, all anxious energy, making sure to put your best foot forward, always stumbling and falling into a better impression than the one you set out to make) and bed comes naturally to mind. he slips into the side closest to the door and you stop him immediately, voice teasing.

"uh, that's my side." you poke at his ribs. the awkwardness had melted over the course of the day together. you were playful, eyes bright and laugh loud. touch came easy between you now, both playful and lingering. the comfort that had been stirred up and tossed into disarray by physical proximity had settled back in.

leon's eyes flit to the door over your shoulder. it's not a big deal, he tells himself. the odds of something happening were astronomically low.

but he knows his luck with astronomically low odds. one in a million is too risky. he's got to be closer to the door, won't be able to sleep if he's not. his hands wrap around your waist, urging you on top of him. he doesn't miss the way you stiffen, the momentary hitch of your breath, but you let yourself get swept along all the same, drape yourself over him as he guides you to.

"just sleep like this." leon shifts lower to make more space for you. he presses a kiss to your head.

it takes longer than he expected for you to relax. slowly, when his hands still at your back and his breathing evens out, your limbs loosen. your weight thickens atop him, pressing him further into the mattress. it's all he can do to remind himself that he's tired, that starting something now would lead nowhere fast.

leon stays awake until he's certain you're out cold. the door remains unbreached, your home still safe. he can't bring himself to regret his caution.

when he's finally able to sleep, he sleeps hard. he wakes to your fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned against your chest, completely flipped around during the night. it's the best night he's had in years.

on day three, leon wonders if he should be more obvious.

he's been putting out all the signs, carefully curated his touch to be lingering, to make you burn for more, but each time you settle against him and offer up a contented "this is nice."

does there need to be a neon sign draped around his neck that says "take me for a spin", arrow blinking down toward his crotch? you'd let him press against your back during an afternoon nap, knee wedged between your legs, arm curled around your stomach to keep you next to him. he woke from dreams where he was bolder, where he wasn't afraid of losing you with that lingering confidence, pressed kisses to the back of your neck until that gauzy empowerment lifted.

hell, he'd woken up that morning laying half on top of you, his head nestled in the valley of your chest. you'd pet his hair til he woke from nuzzling your tits in his sleep.

he abandons subtlety during the credit crawl of eight-legged freaks, a 'classic' you had insisted on making him watch. (you'd laughed when he had commented he could keep you safe in the event of giant spiders. he hadn't been joking, but he still hasn't grown tired of hearing you laugh.)

"hey," he asks, hand curling around your thigh. his thumb smooths an arc across your skin, traces the path again and again. "do you wanna..?"

smooth, kennedy.

you look over at him with that same puppy-dog confusion that he's growing familiar with. instead of moving his hand, you draw your legs up and lay them over his lap. how the fuck is he supposed to interpret that?

"do i wanna..?" you parrot back, drawing the words out into the form of a question.

leon hates himself. he wishes he could back out of this. he clears his throat. how the hell do people broach this topic smoothly? he searches for the words, the silence stretching a little too long for comfort. finally, he says the first thing he can.

"like, sex."

real mature, kennedy, he thinks. he wishes he could backpedal, take it all back. he's certain your face warms. before he can issue a take down for his words, (maybe cut out his stupid goddamn vocal cords, if he has the time) you fumble out, "oh. like- right now? uh, i mean, do you want to?"

continuing with the maturity, he turns it back on you.

"i asked you first."

"i don't not want to."

leon shakes his head. his hand cups your ankle. "i really only take 'yeah' or 'hell yeah'."

"i just didn't think giant spiders got you in the mood."

"hey, the more legs the better."

leon knows deflection when he hears it. he's the reigning champ, after all, could play this game with you all day. but he has mercy; he chuckles, lets you get away with it and grabs the remote, declaring it's his turn to pick another movie since your choice was a mood killer.

later that night, curled up in bed with a video playing mindlessly from your tablet, you turn around to face him. he widens his arms to accommodate the movement, circles them tighter once you settle in.

"you're not mad?" you ask, pressing your face into his chest, already hiding from the answer.

"about what?"

"y'know."

"spell it out for me, sweetheart."

he can feel your breath puff against his chest, an exasperated huff. people have done this same thing to him time and time again. he always hated it, being forced to be forthcoming and earnest. (vulnerable, some people call it, but that always made him feel like a wounded bird.) now that he's on the other side, he sort of sees the appeal.

"'cause i don't wanna have sex yet."

there's a 'yet'. that's promising. he saves that little victory for later. his hand rubs slowly, reverently across the planes of your back.

he knows what he's got to say. he knows that he means it. putting the words to it is different. he needs you to understand, has to do this right.

"i didn't come all this way just to hook up."

you hum. "but you still want to."

christ, he's got to man up and say it.

"of course i do." you burrow closer to him, hands fisting against his side. he taps your back firmly. "hey. i'm not finished. i'm attracted to you, okay? like, really attracted to you. it's not- it's not just physical. i want to see if we can make this work. if what we had on the phone was real."

"is it?"

"yeah. i think so."

"sex isn't important to you?"

"it is. it's just not more important to me than you."

you pull your face from his chest, look up at him with big wet eyes. he brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek tenderly, afraid you'll splinter and those tears will cascade down if he's anything but gentle.

"i think so, too."

you curl back into him, your touch melting from desperate to serene. leon can't help but feel accomplished - as though he's threaded the needle perfectly, cut the right wire just before the clock hit zero. gradually, his breathing falls into step with yours.

"besides," he murmurs, half-asleep. he drops a kiss against the top of your head. "your walls are thin. i don't want you catching a noise complaint."

day four is a glimpse of the life he could have, but it makes him realize what he needs to do to obtain it. the sickly feeling pools in his stomach, leaves him picking at the dinner you made. it's good, he swears. then the lie - just all the travel catching up to him.

he knows by day five that he's got to tell you everything. it's no longer a want - he needs you in his life. he's resolved to come clean.

he nearly does it over breakfast. you set his coffee in front of him, muss his hair before you take your own seat, and it almost comes spilling out onto the table.

i work in national security. i'm a federal agent. there's so much i can't tell you, but it's dangerous. god, it's dangerous. there's so much blood on my hands. it doesn't scrub off but i'm worried it will stain your skin. i think i could love you, if you'll let me. please don't say it back.

"plans today?" he says instead, sipping his coffee.

maybe tomorrow.

day six leaves him melancholy.

you'd insisted that today was for him. whatever he wanted, you would accommodate.

leon worries that his answer is boring. he wants a day in with you. an imitation of what it could be like to come home to this. the idle sounds of you milling about the house could lull him to sleep if it weren't for the words lodged in his throat.

you were doing the laundry. not yours, not his, but the, the definite article that's never felt intimate until that very moment. it silenced him to hear you refer to it that way. he's so tired of reading into every word you say, clinging onto every nuance. he'd forgotten how exhausting this stage of a relationship is. you couldn't send him home with dirty clothes, you explained, and he had no argument against that. his eyes traced after you as you puttered around, busying yourself with tidying. you're so at home. of course you are. it's your apartment. but he wants that. he wants to lift you from this place and into his own home, to watch you make yourself at home and busy yourself with the mundane.

he's got to tell you today. he can't do it over text. it's wrong.

when you finally settle down next to him on the couch, drawing a blanket into your lap, you breach the topic gently, give him a chance to do it himself. leon doesn't realize how obvious he is when he gets that look on his face, all forlorn as if he'd collapsed onto a fainting couch, hand over the back of his forehead. drama queen.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting close - but infuriatingly distant, not quite touching him yet.

"nothing. just looking at you."

bless you for trying to make it easy on him. it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk. he's trained to resist torture and coercion, should know better than to melt under a gentle hand or the way your body fits against his side.

you hum softly, disbelieving. so that's it, then. the silence, the 'i'm respecting your distance until you break' tactics. damn, you're good. leon takes a deep breath, chest aching with the weight of what he has to say. now or never.

"look- i'm not who you think i am."

you don't miss a beat. "in what way?"

he has to force the words out. he's acutely aware that this could ruin everything. you could kick him out. block his number, never speak to him again. good. it was safer that way. you deserved a normal life.

"i lied to you. about my work."

"yeah, i know."

"i work in security. national security."

"leon. i know."

his brain reels back a few steps, trying to process your words.

"you know?" he repeats, almost offended. how could you know? was this a set up?

you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping a quick query in. you turn the phone to him. article after article, a few interviews pinned to the top. every link is purple, clicked on and read through. the one that draws his eye is tucked at the bottom of the screen, makes his skin crawl to remember.

KENNEDY, HARPER CLEARED OF CHARGES

"i googled you." you set your phone down on the coffee table.

"and you still let me into your house?" he was serious, but you laugh. leon's brow pinches. "how long?"

you shrug, as if this conversation is about the laundry. "a couple months. ever since you told me your last name."

"months? why didn't you say anything?"

"i was hoping you'd tell me yourself. and you did, sort of."

his mind is still reeling. the drama of it all had his wound up tight. where does he put that energy?

he must look as thrown-off as he feels, because you chuckle, sweep the hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"i get why you don't tell people upfront. just don't hide stuff like that from me again, okay? seriously. i'll be mad."

it's more grace than he deserves. your acceptance churns his stomach. is there another meaning behind your words, a resentment coiling in the pit of your stomach?

you crack open your book and lean against his side. he settles his arm around you, moving slow, scared to frighten you away. only one chapter in, you pass him your phone, a take-out app order, asking what he wants. if you're mad, you hide it well.

day seven is a funerary procession. you help him scour your apartment for things he may have left behind, packing them neatly in his suitcase-shaped coffin. it's amazing how his things had flooded into your apartment during the short course of his visit. he had spread out, made himself comfortable. part of it had been testing how his belongings felt next to yours, how it all fit - the final test he had constructed in his mind. you'd passed that with flying colors, clearly. he's lost track of a shirt somewhere along the way, but he isn't concerned about it. he'll be back. he can look for it another time.

both of you linger at your front door. excuses are myriad, flowing from both sides. reasons to double back, reasons to keep his hand on your waist, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his.

but eventually the time becomes too urgent, the threat of missing his flight too real. he'd joked in the car that if he didn't turn up for work they might just send a helicopter to pick him up instead, expecting a laugh. you only smile, a wry twist of your lips that fades too quickly. you reach for your sunglasses and shove them on. the air is tense by the time you pull into the parking garage, cherry scented car freshener cloying.

“you gonna cry?” he teases.

you sniffle.

“oh my god.” he is such a jackass. “don't cry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. it's okay. jesus.”

“i just don't want you to go,” you squeak. your hands fist the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white.

leon leans over the center console, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. he shrugs you closer to him, hushing you gently.

"let's plan another trip, okay?" he murmurs against your head, placing apologetic kisses there over and over. "c'mon. it's not forever. it's okay. i'm gonna call you when i land. we'll text, like we always do. it's my turn to pick the movie, so-"

fuck. his voice cracks. he clears his throat, blinks quickly to keep his composure.

"so, i'll pick a good one. wednesday night, okay? you, me, and a really good movie."

steadily, his promises slow your tears. the pressure of time detaches you from his hold. you're with him as far as you can go, waving him off to his gate. his heart sinks like a stone. he hates flights, never gets comfortable on them, but the way home feels longer than usual.

made it home he texts the second he's through the door. you're probably asleep. he hopes you are, at least. it's late for you, and--

yay

before he can bother telling you to go to bed, another message pushes through. his house felt empty before, but your message only deepens the feeling, hollows out the hallways and leaves his bed feeling too big, too cold.

i miss you already. call me tomorrow if you can.

leon squints at the screen.

"is that my shirt?"

you stop mid-sentence. caught red-handed - or, rather, grey-shirted.

it's your movie night since he made it back home. you're curled up in bed, your popcorn off to the side. he can fill in the gaps of your room now, knows what extends beyond the screen - and he knows that shirt. an old work tee of his that had mysteriously gone missing after you did the laundry. well-worn and soft. his name stamped on the back in big, block letters. possessive pride stirs in his chest to imagine you wearing his name.

sheepish, you promise, "i'll bring it back to you. how about next month?"

leon shakes his head. he pulls open his calendar, skimming through the busy weeks to clear the time for you.

"keep it. wear it to the airport for me so i know who to look for."

"you're not gonna make me a sign?"

"the shirt is the sign, sweetheart."

"are you gonna wear a matching one with my name on it?"

"i might." he opens another tab, googling how to make custom t-shirts. "you'll have to get here and find out."

connection restored -`♡´-

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[solarmorrigan]

Like You've Seen a Ghost

For the @steddie-spooktober day 6 prompt: Haunted Rated: T | Words: 1348 | CW: brief descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of past head trauma | Tags: pre-relationship, modern AU, ghost hunter Eddie, ghost whisperer Steve, Steve Harrington has head trauma Divider credit: @saradika

“So… are you getting anything yet?”

“Not really.”

“Well, which way should we go?”

“It doesn’t really work like that, man. I don’t sniff out ghosts.”

“Well forgive me for not knowing how your whole ‘I see dead people’ shtick works.”

Steve glances over at Eddie in the low light of the long hallway. He looks just as grumpy as he has since it had been suggested that he and Steve pair up to check the third floor of the hotel – supposedly the most haunted part of the building.

“You don’t believe I can see dead people at all,” Steve says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“What, could you sense that, too?” he snarks.

“Nah.” Steve shrugs. “I heard you talking to Gareth and Jeff about it.”

At that, Eddie has the decency to look a little sheepish; he hadn’t had the most flattering things to say about Steve in that conversation.

It had been the rest of the team—Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver—who had pulled for this little team-up as a sort of special episode for their YouTube channel; Eddie had been against it from the start. He’d insisted that their viewers expected supernatural investigations based on scientific techniques and equipment, not some fake psychic (charlatan, actually, had been the word he’d used) who takes people’s money and pretends to see their dead relatives.

(Steve, for the record, does not take anyone’s money. Whether or not he sees someone’s dead relatives, he does it for free.)

“Uh… look…” Eddie starts, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It’s fine, man, I get it,” Steve brushes off what likely would have been a very awkward apology. “You can’t do what you do without a healthy dose of skepticism. And it’s not exactly like I can explain it; it just kind of happens. But I promise that when or if I see a ghost, I’ll tell you to get your camera.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, turning back to the gadget in his hands (some of it had been explained to Steve, but he won’t pretend he knows just what the hell kind of science goes into ghost hunting).

They fall into a stilted sort of silence, Eddie scanning their surroundings with whatever it is he’s holding and Steve keeping his eyes peeled for signs of ghostly activity. He can’t say he’s thrilled to be spending the night with someone who clearly doesn’t want to be with him, but it’s really no skin off his nose if Eddie doesn’t believe in his abilities; Steve isn’t Tinkerbell, he doesn’t run on the belief of others.

He hadn’t really even meant to become– well, not famous, but maybe internet famous, at least. He’d just figured that as long as he had the ability to see and speak to the dead, he could use it to put other people’s minds at ease. People who worried about their dead loved ones, or people who were being terrorized in their own homes. Sometimes Steve could put spirits to rest. Sometimes all he had to do was tell someone that their dearly departed whoever was nowhere to be found and must be at peace.

It had sort of snowballed after one person he’d helped had told another, who’d told another, who had the ear of someone with a reasonably popular podcast, who had wanted to talk to Steve, and suddenly Steve had been getting calls for other interviews, for “psychic” investigations, and, apparently, for team-ups with some well-known ghost hunters.

“What did happen?” Eddie asks, breaking a little sharply into the silence.

“What?” Steve looks back over at him.

“You said it just kind of happens. So have you always been like this, or…?”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I got hit really hard in the head,” Steve says.

Eddie stops walking, and now he’s the one staring at Steve. “You what?”

“Got hit in the head.” Steve knocks at his temple for emphasis. “It was… pretty bad. Apparently, they thought I was dead for a minute there. But I lived—y'know, obviously—and now I get really bad migraines and I see dead people.”

“How does that even work? Like – did you cross over, or some shit?” Eddie asks haltingly, like the words are unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Couldn’t tell you. I’ve always kind of thought of it like an old TV set,” Steve says. “My grandparents had one when I was a kid, and it didn’t get great reception, but if you smacked it in the side, sometimes it would find a channel. So, I got hit hard enough that I changed channels, I guess. Now I can see things on frequencies other people can’t.”

“Shit, man,” Eddie says, blinking at Steve. “That’s actually pretty metal.”

“Thanks?” Steve shrugs, starting up their meandering walk down the hallway once more.

“I just mean, like – must make for a good story to tell, right?” Eddie tries.

“Oh, yeah. Head trauma, it’s great for dinner conversation,” Steve drawls, and Eddie winces.

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine, I’m screwing with you.” Steve knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s; it isn’t that Steve hadn’t been fucked up over the fight with a local bigot and bully that had nearly killed him, but that had been a while ago, now. Steve’s processed, made his peace with it – even gotten something kind of useful out of it. He’s fine. (Like, most days. Most days, he’s fine.)

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s also a little smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. It looks nice there – better than the snide look of disbelief from before. Whether or not Eddie does believe him now, Steve likes that he put a smile on his face.

“Hey, we’re coming up on room fourteen,” Eddie says, nodding to a door at the end of the hall.

“And that’s the super haunted one, right?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Eddie reaches out as they approach, turning the knob. “Story goes that a husband and wife were staying in this room, way back when the hotel first opened in the 20s, and the wife pocketed a knife from dinner, waited until the dead of night, and stabbed her husband to death in his sleep before slitting her own throat.”

The room that the door opens into is far more unassuming than the gruesome tale would have had Steve believe. It’s decorated in the vintage style maintained throughout the whole hotel, kept clean and guest-ready, but there’s something – heavy about it. Something Steve can’t quite put his finger on. He approaches the bed; he can’t imagine it’s the same mattress there from the 1920s, but he does wonder if it’s the same bedframe.

The heavy feeling is getting stronger.

“Why did she do it?” he asks, glancing around the room; he doesn’t see anything, not yet, but there’s still something–

“No one knows for sure,” Eddie says, breezing past Steve and plopping right down on the bed, bouncing a little as he sits. “Some people say he had been abusing her and she’d finally had enough. Some say he was cheating, and she was jealous. Some say she just lost her fuckin’ marbles.”

“What, just like that?” Steve asks, still glancing around warily.

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs. “Hey, maybe if the lady’s ghost is still hanging around, you can ask her.”

Steve turns back to Eddie, and the comeback dies on his tongue.

There, kneeling up on the bed, right behind Eddie, is the wife.

It can’t be anyone but her, crimson stains running down the front of an old-fashioned nightgown, blood still oozing from the gaping wound in her neck, the knife clutched in her hand glinting silvery and slick red as she stares down at Eddie in a way that Steve doesn’t like one bit.

“Eddie,” Steve says, slowly reaching for the other man.

“What?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed as he clocks the change in Steve’s demeanor.

Steve grabs him by the arm and yanks him up, maneuvering himself until he’s standing between Eddie and the bed – between Eddie and the ghost.

“You might want to get your camera.”

[adams-angels]

Insecure Adam x reader! like he's insecure about his face because Eve and Lilith abandoned him

Oh this was too fun to write. Insecure boys 😳🥵

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Imposter syndrome

Adam's a nice enough guy. A bit too cocky for your taste, just straight up vulgar at times. So when he asked you on a date you initially said no thanks. And he took it well or so you thought.

Internally he was freaking the fuck out. He hated rejection. HATED IT. It made him feel small. His chest collapsing in on its self. He quickly hurried away from you. You wouldn't see him for weeks maybe even months.

The next time you saw him is mask was slighty different. The LED brighter, more golden. The horns bigger and pointer. It was a small change but you notice.

"hey, Adam?"

"what's up, sweet tits."

"uh, your mask. Is it new?" You ask with a smile.

He gets a shit eating grin. "Yeah. You noticed?"

"yes, well, I tend to notice things." You replied playfully.

Adam took this as a good sign. You must like his new mask! You must like him! "Soo... What are you doing later?" He checks his nails, not giving you any time to reply. "I know this tight place. Only the best get in... I could... I don't know. Take you? If you want?"

"oh, well, I didn't have anything planned. So.. sure, Adam." His feathers puffed up in delight. "Cool. Pick you up at 8, sugartits." And that was it. You were dating Adam, the first man, the original dick.

You've been dating for about a year. You've gotten to the point of spending most weekends at each others apartments. And you noticed Adam will always have his mask on. He'd walk into the bathroom shower and come back with it on before anything else. He'd wear it during sex. Even to eat! You didn't even understand how that worked. You remember one time coming over and having to wait outside for 5 minutes because he needed his mask on. It was honestly getting annoying. You wanted to see his face. Especially when getting intimate. To feel his real lips on your body. Well, tonight was the night you decided. You were going to ask him to take off his mask.

You were cooking dinner while Adam was sat on your couch watching tv.

"Adam, sweetie... Can I ask you something?"

"sure thing, sugartits." His eyes not leaving the screen.

"why do you always wear that mask?"

His heart dropped, palms immediately went clammy as he shoots you a look. "What? Don't you like it?" You put down the knife you were using to chop up the vegetables for the meal. "no, of course I like it. It's just.." you walk over to the sink to wash your hands. "It would be nice to see you face. Like your real face?" You couldn't see but his hands clenched his robe so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

All he heard was static from then on, thoughts circling his head. What if you laugh at him. What if you leave him. What if you hate him. What if you're so repulsed by him you- "Adam!" You were crouched in front of him. He didn't even notice. "Huh, what?"

"you like.. froze? Are you okay?"

"tsk, yeah. I'm fuckin' Adam. I'm always okay, bitch." He leaned back in the couch putting your his arm over the back of it.

"well, I was talking and you stopped responding.. if you don't want to take your mask off you don't have to." He didn't even know you asked.

"psht, I'm not bothered. If you want me to take my mask off just ask." He rolled his eyes then looked away.

"okay... Can you take off your mask please?"

He froze again, his eyes dart to you."s-seriously?" He scoffed. "Whatever. You want it off you can take it off." You stood up. "Okay." Your hands reached down to his mask, he started pushing himself away, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as your fingers curled under neck. You got up to his jaw before he pulled it back down. "I'M NOT READY! I'M NOT READY! PLEASE!" You snatched your hands away as his gripped onto the horns holding his mask in place. "Adam?"

"I'm not... I can't do it. Please don't take it off..."

"I won't. I promise."

"I'm sorry.." his voice cracked and it broke your heart.

"no, no, don't be. You don't have to be sorry." You put your hand on his knees for reassurance. "When you're ready. Okay?"

"okay.." his wraps his arms around you, pulling you on to his lap. You both just hold each other. Until he's ready.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

[ddejavvu]

i imagine eddie working out in his room like doing push-ups, pulls ups, AND he’s shirtless😭😭but he’s doing it secretly and reader walk into his room and he gets all flustered and embarrassed but reader thinks it’s the hottest things she’s ever seen GOD

this post is 18+, minors dni.

If you had to guess, you'd say that Eddie is a little bit insecure. Not that he should be, you like him just the way he is, but you're friends with some of Hawkins' athletes, and at times Lucas seems to have bigger arms than your boyfriend does.

It doesn't bother you, but you think it might bother him a little. He starts wearing longer sleeves instead of his worn out muscle tanks, and you miss being able to stick your greedy fingers through the gaped sleeves to grab at his stomach. He's also started dissuading you from looking under his bed, which you think is suspicious because you already know about the porn magazines under there. Whatever he's hiding must be worse, and you're a little nervous to tell the truth. You have half a mind to ask Wayne if he's noticed anything odd lately, but you don't get the chance to because he's already gone for work by the time you get to Eddie's trailer for the day.

Eddie had said he was busy with work, so you assume he's halfway across town with sixteen pizzas in the back of his van to deliver. You decide to check beneath his bed, at the risk of ruining a possible birthday surprise, and you trek towards his bedroom with worry set low in your stomach.

His door is closed; that's an even worse sign. He doesn't have anything to hide from you or Wayne, you both know about his less-than-conventional 'side job'. When you twist the knob it opens, but slams into something hard, and you hear a familiar voice hiss 'ouch!'.

You rush into the small gap that you'd made with the door, finding Eddie on his hands and knees on the carpet. He's wearing a tank and his gym shorts, showing off his slightly trembling arms as he stumbles to his feet.

"What-" He grunts, eyes blown wide in panic, cheeks colored from exhaustion, "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" You counter, eyeing him up and piecing clues together, "Were you working out?"

"No!" He snaps, chest heaving with both adrenaline from being caught, and fatigue from his exercise, "I'm- I was just cleaning my room."

There's something undeniably attractive about his look right now. Frizzy hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, red cheeks, shaky limbs, and chest heaving.

"On the floor," You narrow your eyes, "Sweaty and shaking?"

"I- That's not... yes." He doubles down with a huff, "I'm trying to get gum off of my carpet. It's hard work."

"Gum," You repeat, and he nods stiffly, "Oh, shut up."

He rears his head backwards in slight shock at your tone, but you don't give him the chance to process it before you're lunging for him. You feel like jumping him, and maybe that's what you're doing as you push him back towards his bed, your mouth firmly over his own. He lets out a muffled cry into the kiss as he falls backwards, bouncing on the mattress while you kick a foot beneath the bed.

The arch of your foot hits weights, and everything makes sense.

"Fuck," You hiss, crawling over top of him on the bed. He's looking half bewildered and half aroused, already chubbing up in his workout gear, "You've been working out?"

"Yeah," He finally admits, voice and breath shaky together, "I- I just thought that it might be nice to get a little bigger. Like- my arms, my- my muscles."

He seems mortified admitting it, but your thumb is already slipping beneath the hem of his tank top, brushing along his bare stomach. He shivers at the contact, and you dip down to kiss him again.

"That's hot," You decide, both thumbs now stroking at his waistline. His hips stutter, jerking up into your grip when you hit a particularly sensitive spot, and his breath hitches into the kiss that you press to his lips.

"Really?" He asks, lips already spit-slicked.

You nod, kissing his jaw, "Totally. Can I watch?"

He laughs, a sharp, breathy sound, "Babe- mm, fuck," You nip lightly at his neck, kissing the mark after, "You can watch me work out every day if you're gonna maul me like this."

[voonroo]

I have an idea! Only do it if you feel comfortable though 🙌🏻 no pressure

Teen reader with Alastor who have this father-daughter bond. Teen reader has never really 'acted out' in a sense. At least not in ways expected of in a sinner. Always had manners, polite, and reserved, yet was always open and honest with Alastor.

Now imagine reader out on the town doing some errands and they overhear a demon talking some nasty crap about Alastor. For the first time, they let their anger get the better of them and get into a fight with the demon. Not without a few cuts and bruises though, poor thing.

Reader not wanting Alastor to get angry or disappointed at them decide that it's best that just this one, they won't mention anything. They'll not tell him this one thing. It won't hurt. He won't know!

Yet it's Alastor. And he always knows. Mainly because they're reading sunglasses inside and trying (failing) to cover up a limp.

Are Ya Winning Child?

⌐‣Alastor & Teen Reader

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: KSNAKXNSM I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS I AM LIVING FOR THESE REQUESTS. I ACTUALLY HAD TO TAKE BREAKS WRITING THIS TO BREATHE. I WAS GENUINELY TWEAKING LIKE ALASTOR WAS THIS LAST EPISODE WRITING THIS.

Alastor & Teen Reader

You had always been one to hold your tongue and watch your actions. To not act out on rashness. That's how you had always been, even before ending up in hell. You had always been known for your good manners, even as a kid and it's only become more solidified in your character as you grew.

Then why was it so hard to not beat the living shit out of the demon in front of you.

There's no way they didn't know you were connected with the infamous radio demon in some way. Maybe they had seen you and him out and about here recently and knew you two had a connection. People are more courageous than ever to question Alastor’s authority since his 7-year absence.

Maybe the demon is just trying to get a rise out of you. Sinners, who were once people, tend to poke and prod at what they don't understand. “How could some random teenage sinner be so close to the radio demon? Maybe they have a deal? The poor soul probably got tricked…” You've heard it all by now.

But, every time someone said something would be in hushed whispers that were easy to ignore. However, it can be quite hard to ignore some random drunkard spouting lies from his lips. And straight to your face too.

“He’s probably got your ass on a leash doesn't he?” and “Oh! If he's so powerful—” There were a few loud noises, maybe a scream or two.

What…? Oh shit.

The walk back to the hotel was not fun. You really should have just ignored him. Silencing him was not worth the pain you had in your leg and the ache you felt. You're pretty sure you got a black eye too.

By the time you arrive, you have adorned sunglasses on your face come up with an idea as to why you have them, and practiced how to hide your limp until you at least got up the stairs.

By telling those who questioned your weird behavior, “Oh someone was giving out free sunglasses they didn't want anymore so I took one.” and walking past your sorry excuse of trying to hide a limp, you finally made it to your room.

However, you didn't have peace for long until a familiar knock sounded at your door. Quickly throwing back on your sunglasses, you heard Alastor’s static voice through the door.

“I heard you arrived back from town just a few minutes ago!” Oh, he's definitely already on your trail…

You walked- well more so limped, over to the door. Signing in defeat before tossing the sunglasses on your bed.

Fuck it, he probably already knows.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with the radio demon himself. His eyes already shooting up and down your figure. From your leg to your black eye.

“May I come in?” It sounded like more of a command rather than a question. Without much thought, you opened the door wider before going back over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. Staring blankly ahead like a guilty child who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. There's no point in trying to argue that you're fine when you know Alastor will just keep pestering you until you tell him.

Sitting down next to you, Alastor sat with you in silence for a moment. As if giving you the chance to speak up first, but when you didn't he let out a soft sigh before gently cupping your face, turning your head to look at him.

“What happened.” The average sinner would have been scared shitless at his tone, but you were only mildly frightened. However, there was definitely ill intent behind his smile. He knows you didn't just do this to yourself. You had to have a reason, you don't usually act out of line.

“I got into a fight.” His hand dropped from your face as you spoke, his smile growing wider before he let out a chuckle. His shoulders slightly shaking and his eyes closed in euphoria. His next words were clear when he spoke, looking you in the eyes.

“And did you win?”

“Yeah…?”

Another chuckle left his lips, though, it sounded more like a childish giggle. His hand raised again, landing on your head before ruffling your hair. A proud smile on his face.

“Good.”

Word Count: 735

[ponderingmoonlight]

Your Arranged Marriage Series

Part 1: Gojo Satoru

Word Count: 4,1k (lmao)

Synopsis: You've been promised to Gojo Satoru since you've took your first breath. But even though your paths a intertwined with each other, he treats you like a shadow that follows him through his life. Until you've having enough. Until your on the brink of losing your life during a mission.

Warnings: The beginning is full of hurt so be prepared, the reader is rather quiet and a little shy in this one, huge fluff bomb in the end of this, not 100% proofread bc I NEEDED to publish this. Please let me know if you'd want me to make this a series and comment who needs to get a part in my arranged marriage series next 🤍

There wasn’t a day in your life when you weren’t promised to Gojo Satoru. No, not even a single second. As soon as you opened your eyes exactly one hour apart from the honoured one, you were promised to him for eternity. You, an ordinary girl from an average sorcerer family, married into the wealthy Gojo clan.

What a lucky girl you are.

“Watch your step, dumbass.”

Truly lucky.

“Sorry”, you mutter more to yourself than the white-haired boy who just crashed into your shoulder roughly.

Truth is, Satoru and you never got along well. Was it the pressure from both your parents, the tension that filled the air whenever you entered the same room? The unspoken promise your parents gave, the fact that you’ll have to carry his children rather sooner than later.

After all, this is what all of this mess is about. You were chosen because Satoru Gojo is forced to guarantee the next bloodline of successful sorcerers, to bring up another honoured one. Why you?

“The fact that you were born on the same day was a sign of heaven. It was meant to be. It was fate.”

Or rather a stupid coincidence, how you like to call it.

A stupid coincidence that chained you to a boy who looks at you with so much disgust in his gaze that you can’t help but feel that numb throbbing in your chest whenever he walks by.

It’s not like you care about his opinion. To be honest, you don’t know a lot about the honoured one who carefully avoids you like the plague. But maybe the fact that he doesn’t even know you and still decides to hate you to the brim is even more hurtful than that.

“Don’t think too much of it. He had a rough day, (y/n).”

You give the black-haired boy in front of you a small smile. Unlike Gojo, Suguru always makes sure to check on you. When Gojo is out for yet another mission, the two of you share your lunchbreaks with each other while talking about everything and everyone. Unlike your fiancé, Suguru really seems to enjoy your company.

“How was your mission? I heard it was pretty rough”, he continues, guiding you to a bench nearby and sitting down next to you.

“It was. A lot of people had to die because of nothing. I wasn’t able to save them all…”, you mutter.

Will you ever hold a candle against the great Satoru Gojo? In comparison to him, you always felt like a dim light in the wind. One wrong movement, one challenging mission and you’re gone.

“Even a special grade sorcerer can’t save everyone. Even Satoru has to deal with losses from time to time, you know?”

“Why are you wasting your time talking to trash again, Suguru?”

You follow his all too familiar voice until your gaze reaches his ice-cold glare. When was the last time he smiled at you? Maybe he never did in the first place.

“Please, it’s okay Suguru. Don’t start-“

“You’d know that’s not true if you’d actually talk to (y/n)”, Suguru replies dryly while positioning himself in front of you.

Oh no, you desperately tried avoiding situations like those. If there’s one think Gojo can’t let slide, it’s being provoked. And if there’s one thing you can’t stand, it’s confrontation.

Gojo’s smirk twists into something colder, his gaze shifting briefly to you before settling back on Suguru. You can feel your guts turn in an instant, mind already preparing for whatever he’ll throw at you next.

"Oh, is that what you think, Suguru?" he sneers.

"If you knew the whole story, you’d know she’s only here because her parents practically sold her off. Guess they figured a rich fiancé would solve all their little problems."

Your parents, selling you off? You swallow hard, desperately trying to get rid of that tight knot that starts building up in your throat almost immediately. Is that all he sees in you? He, the man who’s supposed to spend his whole life with you? Him, who ruined every minor chance you had on a romantic relationship? It’s not only his life that got turned upside down by that stupid bond both your parents made years ago.

Suguru’s expression hardens, his jaw clenched as he stands firmly between you and Gojo.

"That’s low, even for you, Satoru.”

Something inside you snaps. The quiet, bothering frustration you've carried for so long starts to boil over.

Before you can think it through, you step forward, your voice steadier than you feel.

"Is that really all you think of me, Gojo?"

The words surprise even you, but you push on, meeting his cold gaze.

"Do you really believe I wanted any of this?"

Your voice is tight but clear, every word sharpened by the years you've kept silent.

"You think I asked to be engaged to someone who looks at me like I'm some burden? As if I had any more choice in this than you did?"

Gojo's smirk falters slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he quickly schools his expression.

But you don’t back down. Not when those words are finally flying off your tightened chest.

 "It’s not only your life that got flipped upside down by this arrangement. I’ve tried to make the best of it, tried to make it work, but I can't do that if you’re determined to see me as nothing but a... a gold digger, a burden, a disease."

You take a shaky breath, feeling the knot in your throat loosen as you finally speak your truth.

Suguru glances back at you, his expression softening with something close to pride. Gojo, for once, stays silent, his gaze unreadable as he looks at you.

Did you really talk to him? You, who usually didn’t even dare to meet his gaze, who never talked to him again after he made fun of you in front of the entire school? You, who never voiced her opinion, who never dared to raised her voice? You always played along, always lived right by his side without a single word of protest. And now you’re standing in front of him, your rapid breaths hanging in the air, your beautiful face twisted in a mix of unreadable feelings.

“I never asked for this engagement. All I ever did was getting born into this word”, you croak out, voice breaking mid-sentence.

God, you have to look pathetic right now with tears filling your eyes to the brim and fists shaking. How did someone like you end up being the fiancé of none other than Gojo Satoru? He needs someone feisty, someone who can stand up to him, whose confidence overpowers his humor. Is was the worst match right from the start, doomed to failure.

But how are you supposed to live with this outlook? What about the happy future you imagined way too often before drifting off to sleep, the caring and loving husband you always wished for? All those looks at boys you never risked because of him while he was out there drooling after other girls. How are you supposed to be okay with the stinging fact that your future husband feels nothing but disgust for you?

“But you know what’s the worst? You never even gave me a chance, never allowed me to get to know you. We’re strangers because you decided we’ll be. And you hate me even though you don’t even know my favourite color.”

You need to get out of here right now. Out of this way too constricting hallway, away from him and his judging glare while tears stream down your face like a waterfall. You never asked for this puny life in the shadow of Satoru Gojo, waiting for the day he is forced to marry and sleep with you.

You never wanted this.

“Suguru”, Satoru speaks up after what feels like an eternity.

“Can you tell me what’s her favorite color?”

-a few weeks later-

His eyes scan the lonely hallway you usually hide yourself in automatically, desperately searching for any sign of you.

Satoru hasn’t seen you since that day. And to be honest, he felt like a jerk ever since. Your words cut through his heart like a hot knife, the agony in your voice still echoing through his mind. You don’t deserve the pain he caused you. Fuck, he never even deserved you in the first place.

You in that sundress, sitting in the down-going sun while reading all those books he’d never understand. You with your cursed technique that would beat him by miles if it wasn’t for his six eyes. You with your calm and collected demeanour that made every single of your classmates here at jujutsu high fall hard for you.   

Truth is, Satoru Gojo never had the courage to approach you. Not after treating you so horribly when you were kids, not when he was never the man you’d deserve. What if you’d reject him, what if your heart belongs to someone else?

“I’m a coward”, Gojo groans while letting himself fall tragically against a nearby wall.

“Can’t argue with that. Are you really telling me you treated her like shit because you didn’t wanna marry her back when both of you were kids?”, Suguru comments dryly.

“Stop judging me Suguru, you’re supposed to be my mental support!”

“Not when you’re acting like the biggest douchebag walking on earth. What the hell were you thinking?”

Gojo lets out a long sigh, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.

"You don’t get it, Suguru," he mutters, staring down at his feet. "

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry her, or that I thought she wasn’t good enough or something. It’s just… I never had a choice. Neither of us did."

Suguru crosses his arms, his expression unimpressed.

"And that justifies you treating her like garbage? You realize how pathetic that sounds, right?"

Gojo winces, the truth hitting harder than he'd like to admit.

"Yeah, I know. But back then... all I could see was that my whole life had been decided for me. My parents barely even asked if I wanted it. They just assumed it was best for the clan, for me, whatever."

"So, what? You took it out on her?"

“I know it sounds stupid, but I felt... trapped. And she was part of that trap. Every time I saw her, it just reminded me of everything I couldn’t choose for myself. I thought if I pushed her away, maybe it’d hurt less. Maybe I’d feel like I was in control."

Suguru shakes his head, a mixture of sympathy and disbelief in his eyes.

"So instead of talking to her, you just became the one thing she’d never want in a partner?"

Gojo leans back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Yeah, genius move, right? I thought I could make her hate me, so she'd never have to be tied down to some jerk who couldn’t get over himself. But instead... I just made her hate me for real."

Suguru’s silence says more than any scolding could, and Gojo closes his eyes, feeling the weight of his own choices settle heavily on him.

“Truth is, I secretly looked out for her when I had the chance. I even listened to some of your conversations from time to time.”

“That’s pathetic, man. She’s literally your fiancé-“

“I GET IT OKAY.”

Gojo signs to himself while rubbing his eyes over and over again.

“I fucked up, okay? I need to talk to her.”

“Good idea after more than 16 years of ignoring her”, Suguru comments dryly.

-on the battlefield-

You can’t catch your breath, your own blood taking your sight almost completely. This was supposed to be an easy mission for a special grade sorcerer. Go in, get the artefact, save the people and leave. You’ve done that 100 times already.

But today?

You cough up the bitter taste of iron, crimson now covering your shaky hands.

Today you’re closer to dying than you’ve ever been before.

Over and over, again and again you get smashed into nearby building. What are you supposed to do? Who should you call?

Satoru?

Your heart tightens in an instant. Would he be sad if you die right here and now? Probably not. After all that would mean that he’s free, that he’s able to live his life unchained with a girl he can choose himself.

Lucky Gojo.

Your eyes dart towards the frightening creature that starts building itself up in font of your eyes again. You were able to evacuate all the innocent people out of this curtain along with the artefact this thing guarded. You did your job, right?

It wouldn’t be a shame if you die right here and now…right?

Another wave of venom darts towards you at neck breaking speed. Oh, your body feels so tired, your muscles sore from the countless times you tried to escape that monster already, your bones and joints begging you for a break.

A break would be okay, right? Giving up right here and now doesn’t hurt anyone…right?

You allow your eyes to flutter shut, your body to sink to the ground. Only a few seconds and it will be over. You did what you could, fought until the very end. Maybe Gojo or Suguru will be able to defeat this curse.

“(y/n), what the hell are you doing? Get out of the way?”

It happens faster than your eyes nap back open again. From one millisecond to the other, you find yourself devoured in Gojo Satoru’s arms while dashing through the bloody red sky.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, (y/n)!? You could have died right there on the spot!”, he screams on top of his lungs, eyes glowing in a dreadful blue you’ve never seen before.

“I-…I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You could be dead by now, nothing but a puddle of blood. You…are you insane!?”

“I finished my mission. That’s all that counts”, you reply automatically.

Oh, how much you hate that familiar sting of tears in your eyes, the way your throat starts aching all over again.

“You have to be fucking kidding me…Finished your mission!? What was your mission, killing yourself!?”

“Why do you even care?”, you suddenly cry out just as loud as him.

“It’s not like you give a damn about me!”

Your words hit him like a bullet straight to his heart. How much he hates to admit that you’re right, that he can’t blame you for feeling this way. After all, it was him who treated you like trash for your whole life, who pretended to not give a damn about you. From your point of view, there really is no reason for him to care.

Gojo stares at you, his breath ragged, his usual composure shattered as he hovers in the air with you cradled securely in his arms. For a moment, he can’t speak, his mind racing with everything he’s hidden, all the words he’s swallowed over the years. Finally, his eyes soften, and he looks at you with something so raw that it makes your heart ache.

“Why do I care?” he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

“Because I’ve been an idiot, (y/n). A complete fool. I thought… I thought if I just kept my distance, if I acted like I didn’t care, maybe it would hurt less when I knew you’d never choose to be with someone like me.”

Your eyes widen, every ounce of bitterness and confusion momentarily fading as you take in his words. Is that really Gojo Satoru talking to you? The boy who ignored you since birth? Your fiancé who made it more than clear that he’ll never like you?

“You… what?”

He lets out a shaky laugh, looking away for a second as he tries to collect himself.

“I know it sounds crazy. I thought pushing you away would make it easier - for both of us. I thought if I made you hate me, then maybe you wouldn’t feel as trapped by this whole… engagement thing. I didn’t want you to think you were stuck with me.”

You blink, trying to wrap your mind around his words.

“So… all of this, the coldness, the insults… it was all to push me away?”

Gojo nods, his jaw clenched.

"Yeah. I wanted you to feel free. Free to be with whoever you wanted. Even if that meant I’d be out of the picture. I thought it would be better for you if I was the last person you’d ever want. And honestly, that whole marriage thing scared the crap out of me since I understood what it means…"

Your heart aches at the confession, and despite everything, you feel yourself softening. Softening for a little boy who was chained onto a woman he didn’t even know, a boy who didn’t even think about girls back then.

“But Satoru… that just hurt me even more. I thought you couldn’t stand me. All these years, you made it clear for everyone to see.”

He closes his eyes, guilt clear on his face.

“I know. I realize now how much I messed up. But I didn’t know how else to keep myself from… from caring too much. From wanting more than I should, more than I can afford.”

He opens his eyes, and there’s a depth in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“Because the truth is, (y/n), I do care. I’ve always cared. Way more than I ever wanted to admit.”

You stare at him, heart pounding as his words sink in.

"Satoru… why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t we just talk this through?"

“Because I didn’t think I was what you deserved,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re kind, patient, brilliant… and me? I’m reckless, arrogant, and stubborn. I figured if I stayed away, maybe you’d find someone better.”

He sighs, looking down with a faint, almost self-deprecating smile.

"But even then, I couldn’t stay away, could I? The moment I thought you were in danger, I-" He trails off, shaking his head.

"I would’ve torn that curse apart with my bare hands if it meant keeping you safe."

You swallow, unable to keep the tears from welling up as you finally see the truth he’s tried to hide for so long.

“All this time, I thought… I thought you hated me.”

Gojo’s gaze softens, and he gently wipes a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I was an idiot,��� he murmurs, his voice breaking a little.

 “I was so wrapped up in my own fears that I hurt the one person I actually wanted to be close to. And I’m so, so sorry, (y/n). I’ve been a fool. You deserved so much better than how I treated you.”

He pauses, and there’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, like he’s finally allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

“But I need you to know… I don’t want to keep pretending anymore. I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I just want… I just want to be by your side, if you’ll let me.”

A warmth spreads through you, his words slowly melting the hurt he caused. Despite everything, you feel something rekindling between you, a glimmer of hope that maybe things could be different. And maybe, just maybe, Gojo Satoru will be a good friend in the future.

“You’ve been a fool, Satoru. And honestly, I can’t forgive you more than 16 years of constant pain over a few words. You…You need to prove it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling a little as he looks at you with a fondness he no longer bothers to hide.

“I can finally start making up for it.”

-12 years later-

The training field buzzes with the usual sounds of Jujutsu High’s students sparring and practicing, but today, there’s an extra spark of excitement in the air. Rumors had spread that Gojo’s wife, the famous sorcerer he’d somehow managed to marry, was stopping by for a visit.

Nobara, and Yuji exchange glances, all curious and maybe a little nervous. After all, they’d seen Gojo in action before: cold, powerful, a little too confident for his own good. What kind of person could possibly keep up with him? They wait, watching the gates eagerly, until finally, a familiar figure strides onto the training field, radiating warmth and energy.

“Can y’all stop acting so ridiculous? It’s only (y/n)”, Megumi murmurs in sheer confusion.

“Only the (y/n)!?”, Nobara shrieks.

“Watch your mouth, sea urchin!”, Gojo replies so frustrated that Megumi can’t help but roll his eyes.

What is he fussing about? It’s not like he sees you every single day. As his wife, you’re basically always around if it isn’t for a mission.

“(Y/N)!” Gojo shouts, waving both arms in the air like an excited kid when finally seeing you walk through the gate.

His grin is wide, almost blinding, and it only grows wider as he rushes toward you. You can’t help but laugh, stepping into his embrace as he pulls you close.

“Right on time, huh?” you tease, letting the affection seep into your tone as you look up at him, the playful glint in your eyes unmistakable.

“Of course! How could I not be excited when my beautiful wife is here?” he responds, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, a mix of adoration and mischief in his eyes.

Nobara leans in closer to Yuji, whispering,

“Is he always like this?”

Yuji nods enthusiastically, grinning.

“Yep! He’s totally whipped!”

Megumi rolls his eyes, but even he can’t hide the hint of a smile at his friend’s antics.

“I can’t believe he used to treat her like trash,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

“HE WHAT!?”

You catch that last bit and can’t help but smirk, turning back to Gojo.

“Remember when you thought being a jerk was the way to go because our marriage was arranged? And now you’re treating me like a princess in front of your students? I’d love to show that mini Satoru.”

Gojo feigns innocence, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.

“I was just preparing you for the royal treatment! Didn’t want to spoil you too much right away.”

You shake your head, chuckling as you poke him in the side.

“Oh, please. You had a lot of catching up to do after your earlier mistakes.”

“Hey! I was young and foolish! I’ve learned since then!” he retorts, laughter dancing in his eyes while he pulls you even closer towards him.

 “And now I’m the luckiest guy in the world!”

“You’ve always been the luckiest guy in the world with (y/n) being promised to you”, Megumi comments dryly.

The students watch the playful banter, caught somewhere between awe and amusement as you continue to tease Gojo about his past shitty behaviour, his eyes never leaving your mesmerizing gaze.

“Just remember, Satoru,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially, “you’ll never live down how badly you treated me. I’ll be sure to remind you every chance I get until the day you die.”

Gojo laughs, his blue eyes sparkling with joy and affection.

“Bring it on, I’ll just keep proving to you how much you mean to me!”

And with that, he presses his lips against yours. Longingly, with that passion that sweeps you off your feet over and over again. Just a few years ago, you didn’t even allow yourself of thinking about kissing that man, let alone lying in his arms for something apart from fighting. He’s not only your husband, but he loves you. Gojo Satoru adores you with all his heart and you simply can’t get enough of this, enough of him.

“Gosh, that’s kinda gross”, Nobara mutters under her breath.

“Watch out young lady. Who knows if you’ll get married to your pink-haired friend here sooner or later? Arranged marriages are common in the jujutsu sorcerer society. Trust me, been there, done that-”

“ME AND THAT GUY!? NEVER!”

“Hey, there’s no need to sound so disgusted. I’m sure I’ll be a great husband…”

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr @ryumurin @baepsays

@maximumuzuamy

[hairmetal666]

It's a fluke that Eddie ends up a gymnast. Wayne only signs him up for summer classes at Hawkins's tumbling gym to burn off his excess six-year-old energy. Nobody, lest of all Eddie or Wayne, expects him to be talented at it.

And now, somehow, he's at his first ever elite gymnastics competition. His coaches all said he was good, but he hadn't really had a frame of reference for what that meant. Not until now. Not until he's in 3rd place after high bar, right behind Steve Harrington.

They tumbled together, as little kids. Steve a tiny boy with an absurd pompadour, monopolizing the mats for insane tumbling passes and lording his high-end competition shirts over the other kids (none of the rest even wore actual gymnastics gear; they were six and it was Hawkins).

Now, he's a swaggering fifteen year old with the same pompadour and bad attitude. They're not on the same rotation, but as Eddie moves on from his floor exercise, Steve makes a point to ram into him.

Eddie doesn't react and maybe that would've been the end of it, but he ends up placing, and Steve corners him in the locker room.

"Come to congratulate me?" Eddie smirks.

"You better watch your back, Munson." Steve shoves him into the lockers.

"I knew you were an asshole, Harrington, but I didn't realize you were a sore loser."

Steve leans close, heat melting into Eddie. "You better count yourself lucky you've gotten this far. Not really a sport for poor kids."

Eddie bristles at this. Yeah, sure, his gear is secondhand, and he and Wayne learned how to sew to mend his competition shirts, gymnastics pants, and warmups, but they work hard, together, for Eddie to do this. "Don't worry about how I afford to be here." Eddie checks him as he brushes past. "Just fix those wobbly flairs on pommel."

The rivalry is hot and fierce and mean, made even worse by the fact that Eddie has an enormous hate-boner for Harrington. It's not, Eddie reasons, his fault. He's gay and surrounded by guys whose bodies are honed for a sport based on strength, endurance, and agility, Steve the most beautiful of all. So he looks, and he longs, and he hates Harrington with every fiber of his being.

Eddie's sure this would continue for their competitive lives, but everything changes the summer before their junior years of high school. They're at a training camp, the kind for world champion, Olympic hopeful types. Steve is practicing ring dismounts when he loses himself in the air, lands hard off the mat, destroys something in his knee. He needs surgery, the recovery time 6-8 months, if he's lucky to be able to compete again.

Maybe a year ago, Eddie would be excited by this development, but now it's kind of devastating. He doesn't bother examining why.

--

Steve comes back and he's--different. His first competition, he comes up, asks, "Eddie, hey, can we talk?" And, well, they've never been on a first name basis before and Steve is so so pretty, so he agrees.

"I just want to say, I'm sorry how I treated you back before. I was a real piece of shit and you never deserved it."

Eddie truly doesn't know how to respond, never foresaw this day coming. "Thanks. Uh--yeah. Thanks."

They stare at each other for a few seconds longer before Steve taps him on the shoulder and walks away.

It's not the only thing that's changed about Steve. There's this big group of feral children that follow him around everywhere now. Apparently, Harrington told them Eddie plays dnd and now they follow him around too.

He also. Has a girlfriend now. She's pretty; delicate looking. Her name is Nancy. And she's nice, or whatever. Eddie definitely isn't jealous. It's just. He's been with Steve in locker rooms for years, and he thought--well, he'd seen the way Harrington's eyes sometimes lingered on a bicep, a well-cut thigh, the intrigue of a pelvic v, and he thought--not that it matters, but he thought--

Anyway, Steve has a girlfriend.

---

They're at the winter classic, when it happens.

Eddie is doing good. Like. Really good. Like his routines, they're not flawless, but he's hitting the big skills and sticking landings, and stays in 2nd throughout the majority of the rotations.

It's not a huge shock when he finishes his final rotation, vault, and winds up finishing in 2nd. What is a shock, though, is that, when the scores go up, Steve is wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist, hoisting him into the sky. And, even after he's back on solid ground, Harrington doesn't loosen his hold.

And it's, like. Nothing, right? It's nothing because he has a girlfriend and, sure, maybe he's bi, but that doesn't stop Nancy from existing.

He's not going to think about it, is the thing. He knows it doesn't mean anything, so he isn't going to dwell. It's definitely not all he thinks about during the podium ceremony, or after when he talks to media, or even later walking into the empty locker room.

Or. He thought it was empty. But Steve is there, smiling, saying "you were amazing out there."

They hug again, and Eddie tries not to enjoy the warmth of Harrington's body, the comforting strength of his toned biceps. Eddie pulls back and Steve is--he's so close, gazing at Eddie's lips and--

Steve's mouth is hot and sweet, like he's wearing cherry chapstick, and Eddie can't--he thinks of Nancy; she's nice, doesn't deserve this, they should stop--

But he's sucking on Steve's tongue and Steve is making the sweetest sounds, hard against Eddie's thigh, and nothing else matters.

---

It goes on for months.

Eddie knows he needs to end it, vows to as soon as they're apart.

It all goes out the window as soon as they're together again. He can't get enough. It's Steve. How is he supposed to resist?

(He needs to. It's horrifying, what they're doing to Nancy)

---

The children who follow Steve around invite him to dinner after the first day of the USA gymnastics championships.

Nancy is there.

It's the worst three hours of his life. He can't look at Steve, can barely speak to him.

Nancy is beautiful and smart and kind and strong. She doesn't deserve any of this.

And when Steve drops by his hotel room hours later, Eddie greets him by saying, "I can't do this anymore."

Steve's shoulders drop, eyes squeezing shut. "Right. Yeah, I--Yeah."

"I like you, Steve. A lot. But I can't--you have a girlfriend. And I can't keep being whatever this is for you."

Steve nods, won't meet his eyes. "You're right. It's not fair to either of you. I--My parents expect--And I--I'm sorry," he whispers the last part.

Eddie smiles, heart aching. "Sweetheart. I get it. But. Figure out your shit, yeah? Maybe then we can talk?"

The smile Steve flashes him is a broken thing. "Maybe. Sure."

And that's it.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

The next day, he wins first in the all-around.

---

He and Steve stop speaking.

Somewhere around, ohh, the very first time they hooked up, he caught feelings. So sue him if it kills him, seeing Steve at every competition.

They don't speak again until the Olympic trials. And isn't that ridiculous? Eddie at the Olympic trials. It's such an insane pipe dream, being an Olympian, that he doesn't actually have any expectations whatsoever.

So knock him over with a feather when he fucking makes it on the team.

And so does Steve.

The announcement rings out, and Steve is there, out of nowhere, pulling Eddie into his arms. And Eddie's so hyped, so excited, that he just shouts and hugs Steve right back.

He pretends the proximity, the musk of Steve's cologne, the tangy saltiness of his sweat, doesn't bother him, doesn't transport him immediately back to Steve's bed.

They're teammates now; he can keep it casual.

Right before they leave for the games, news breaks that Steve and Nancy have broken up.

---

The Team competition at the fucking Olympics is going well. They've had good routines, with no huge errors, stay consistently within the top 5 scores. But then they're on the last rotation, parallel bars, and he's the very last competitor to go. They'll win bronze if he can score above 14.933.

But

He's inconsistent on parallel bars, always has been, something deep and psychological he can't quite let go of, and now their medal chances are all on him.

He salutes the judges, jumps into his starting position--and his mind goes quiet. Muscle memory, skill, years of training take over--he's flawless.

Eddie sticks his dismount, and the place erupts. He doesn't have a score yet, doesn't know if he's done it, but the rest of the team screams like he has.

They pull him into their arms, but Steve is closest, his grip the tightest. Their eyes keep catching, holding, and Eddie can't really breathe but he doesn't think it's the anxiety or the excitement.

The score goes up.

Not only is it high enough for bronze, it puts them in silver.

Eddie has barely a second to process before he's being hoisted into the air, Steve's arms bracing him up. The crowd's going crazy, his teammates screaming and hugging him, each other, but all he sees is Steve beaming up at him.

He's slowly lowered to the ground, Steve's arms still around him. "You were perfect, baby," Steve whispers. "Never seen anyone like you."

He wishes he could stay right there, Steve beaming at him, but they won the silver--they won the silver at the goddamn Olympics--and they have to get medals, do interviews.

They don't have a chance to be alone together until they're back at the Village, where Steve is just waiting in Eddie's room when he gets back.

"Is this okay?" Steve asks. "I wanted to talk to you and Jason let me in, but I can--I'll leave."

"Please don't." Eddie swallows. "Stay."

Steve smiles, a little. "I needed to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did to you and Nancy. It was unfair to both of you. I love her, you know? But she's not who--I'm not in love with her."

"No?"

"No. I thought it would make my parents happy, settling down with a nice girl. But it turned out it didn't actually make a difference to them, who I dated. And she isn't who I wanted to be with."

"I'm proud of you for figuring out what you really wanted. It's brave."

"I wish I could've been brave earlier." He gives a little laugh. "Before I hurt you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He wishes the same thing.

"Um, which is also why I'm here." Steve plucks at the waistband of his Team USA Nike joggers. "I wanted to see if maybe we could try again? Officially this time?"

Eddie can't keep his smile from taking over his entire face. "Sweetheart, I would love to."

"Yeah?"

And Eddie just--after all this time, he just--pulls Steve into his arms and kisses him. The silver medals, still around both of their necks, clink together with the force, but neither of them really care.

Steve sighs, nuzzles his nose to Eddie's. "Missed you so bad," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Eddie smiles. "But kiss me a while."

Eventually, they fall back onto Eddie's bed, which makes a horrible noise as their combined weight topples onto it, and they break apart to laugh. Steve smooths back his hair, wrapping a few fingers through his curls to keep Eddie close, even though he's not about to go anywhere.

"Can't believe we made it all the way here." Steve's looking at him like he hung the moon

"Cause we're taking medals home?"

"Honey," he laughs. "Because I'm taking you home."